16/8/18

I fell in love.
Her name is Julie.
She has big eyes,
eyes that squint into a straight line when she smiles.
Her voice, her words smooth as jazz on a Tuesday night.
I love sleeping next to her.
She smells like flowers,
smells like the best dream ever.

We spoke different languages when things were tough
Emotions were bottled up and spilling
on every surface, every experience, every wound.
She screamed into eternal abyss with her silence
while I hurled words into nothingness like broken plates that shattered on old walls.

I take it back.
She did not speak at all.
She only spoke at the end.
Her words, caked with an underlying anger that only came with years of unresolved rage.
Pointed all her fingers at me and deemed me the culprit,
Said I was the one that stomped on the flowers that she planted
Said I was the one, the smudge in the printer that ruined the pretty photos

22/10/18
It's been more than two months.
I stopped staring at the grey head that once held your picture in my phone.
My thoughts are no longer for you, no longer you.
Dreams are just dreams, no longer a looping film of losing you.
Got a heart, ready to have your name on it.
Now all that's left is a plaque, missing the rest of your name after J.
Still got that knife wound in my chest.
You missed, got a piece of my heart but not all of it.
My poem was unfinished because I was hurt.
I didn't know how to finish it.
I think I don't think I want to finish it.
She has all my words, and you get none.

Loss.

I think when you lose someone, you never really stop losing someone. You lose them again when you think of them because who you remember is sure to be a different reflection of who they are now. You lose them again when you miss them. You lose them every time you imagine their reflection next to yours in the mirror, when you try to remember how their body fits into you. I feel that the more you see the change, the more you lose them. I can’t pin point it.

I’m in quite a lot of pain. I don’t quite know how else to say it anymore.

She changed her mind, most likely.

My heart has continued to drop endlessly for days. I continue to feel numb when I am not with company. I feel dead. I have mildly tried to recreate the mess I feel inside on my wrists and my belly. Maybe I really am not enough. Maybe it really is my fate to forever be left behind or a burden. 

I said I would wait for the year. I will but maybe at the price of my sanity again. I trusted you because you were so determined and I gave you all my understanding and my efforts and my empathy even though you did not deserve it. 

I was wrong. Now I am alone in my room. My wrist and my belly burns and I am alone in my room, mourning again. Mourning the person I believed you to be. I am alone again. I am alone. 

You are this close to changing your mind and leaving me behind. After that, I am alone again.

Bee Gees, amirite?

I realize I've spent a lot of time missing people.
I don't do anything about it.
Not because I don't want to,
A lot of times I would have almost made up my mind
and then, I remember that I couldn't afford to.
It was a bitter moment
because I was limited and there was nothing I could do.
So I settled,
Settled with just missing them.
Maybe that's why I remember the small moments, the small things.
My brain was getting all these information ready
for a rainy day, which was almost everyday.

The things I remember are odd:
the twinkle in my best friend's eye
the way lips felt
the deep sighs that my little brother could make
the way my family harmonizes at the dinner table
cold beer on lonely nights
cigarettes in a loud club
warm hands in mine when my insides felt like pitch black
sharp pain on the insides of wrists

I think I've spent a lot of time missing sensations
In these sensations, there were heights of emotions.
In these emotions, there was a fight to staying alive.
I think I miss being alive.

1/6/18

I never really admit what I want for myself, especially when it comes to being with someone and what I hope to have with them. I don’t admit that I want that quaint kitchen to cook meals with them, small living room with an L-shaped sofa in front of a medium-sized TV. I’ve always imagined what my life would be like with someone. It was something I’ve always wanted. I’ve never had it written down anywhere, never had a small sketch even. As if I am too terrified of it never coming true. If I don’t have it anywhere in black and white, it doesn’t exist, it’s not real. I will remain that girl that can be alone, that can have her own life and not need anyone because what good is there to have someone constantly around?

This is one of the second time where I am screaming it to the skies (or rather the ceilings of the this box called a blog) that I do want a life with someone. I want it so bad that it brings me pain because I know it is and will remain to be a dream. 

The first time I said it out loud to myself and to someone was when I was playing the questions game with her. I asked her what her ideal life would be like. She described apartments, the number of pets, where it would be and the ideal partner. I didn’t intend to answer the question myself because I never thought people would be interested. However, she was. She asked and I cannot help but completely be warmed by the genuineness in her reciprocation. I started out stating that I wanted to live in apartments or condos. Then, mental pictures of living rooms, kitchens, work room are slowly painted with every descriptions that I could give her. The more I described it, the more the ache in my chest throbbed against my ribcage.

I want it. I want it all. So bad. I cannot see anyone wanting this with me. Not even when I see it with them.